


Anthropophagus

by Wrong_Side_Of_Reality



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:50:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrong_Side_Of_Reality/pseuds/Wrong_Side_Of_Reality
Summary: What a completely good natured and non threatening title, am I right? Don't worry, no one's an actual cannibal in this fic, kind of. Let me rephrase that, no one is actually eating flesh in this... Never mind the small details, just read it, I think you'll like it.





	1. It's fruit punch, I swear.

I've been dead for 20 years I won't let 20 more pass me by. Patrick sits quietly on his couch and taps his fingernails on the leather armrest, peering at his feet through the glass coffee table. He notices something out of the corner of his eye, Pete. Pete was tiny, to say the least, but his hair hangs over his always intense face, making him look like a cliche mysterious character from a movie that all the girls fawn over. He grumbles as he shuffles towards the kitchen.

"Not a morning person are we?" Patrick snickers. If looks could really kill, Pete's profession would be staring. Something about his face completely outweighed how tiny he is, making him look intimidating regardless of the fact he was only around 5'6". 

" 'Trick it's fuckin' 3 in the morning. Do you even have an internal clock or do you just not care about my sleep?" Pete takes a sip of his coffee as he chastises Patrick.

"I mean, it's kind of both," Patrick smiles and shrugs slightly. Pete wraps both his hands around the coffee mug and sits next to Patrick. Pete gestures towards Patrick's glass and scowls.

"Dude you need to stop drinking that shit from a package, you need to go get some yourself," Pete puts the mug down and folds his arms. Patrick doesn't like when Pete looks at him like that but he eggs him on anyway.

"I don't wanna," Patrick leans back, sprawling out obnoxiously and doing his best imitation of a toddler's voice. Pete is not impressed.

"No seriously, Patrick, listen, that'll make you sick if you don't get it fresh, you can't put it off forever, you'll have to do it eventually," Pete is practically talking to himself at this point as Patrick sips the liquid through a straw, pretending to listen intently. He faces Pete but he's really just looking behind him at the dull gray sky. The tiny droplets on the window raced each other down to the crevices below. Pete continues to scold Patrick but all he can hear is the rain. Despite the massive quantity of rain, it came down softly, like when you tap your nails against the side of a glass mug.

"Hello? Earth to Patrick? I'm talking to you are you even-" there was a knock at the door.

"Who the hell is here at 3 in the morning?!" Pete stomps his feet and grits his teeth. He throws open the door to see a tall man standing before him. His brown tousled hair is soaking wet as well as his beard, it plastered itself to his face and forehead. His limbs were long, but not so much that they resembled a spider, tiny beads of water rolling off his colourful tattoos. His clothes were in utter disarray, his red bowtie slanted and his black button up glued to his chest as if it were painted on, black slacks soaked and stiff. But above all his eyes were a soft blue that presented a showiness about them without making an effort to become known. He grabs a fistful of wet cloth and exhales sharply in short bursts.

"Can I stay here for the night?" The man finally asks. Pete's eyes widen and he folds his arms.

"Woah, woah, woah, dude, we don't even know you and you think we're just going to let you stay here? Why would I-" Pete puffs his chest out and stands as tall as possible when Patrick pushes him back down to earth.

"We, Pete, we. It's not only you here," Patrick is quiet and assertive.

"Now, let the nice man in before I bite you," Patrick demands through gritted teeth. He had been watching the entire time from behind a wall and only did he step up when he thought Pete would make the handsome stranger leave.

"You would never," Pete growls as he storms off to his room.

"Now come in, we don't want you to get sick now, do we?" Patrick gestures towards the man, inviting him in with a warm smile before hurrying off to the bathroom to grab him a towel. He hands the man a towel and he dries his hair.

"You wouldn't happen to have a spare of clothes, would you?" The man asks meekly, quivering and pulling the hair from his face.

"Um... I think Pete may have something you could have, I'll check for you, but for now, sit, get comfy, our house is your house or whatever that Spanish saying is," Patrick babbles as he runs upstairs to rummage through Pete's belongings. 

Patrick throws Pete's door open and begins throwing his laundry around.

"What the fuck, Patrick! What are you doing?" Pete exclaims but Patrick still continues to ransack Pete's clothes. 

"I'm grabbing our guest some clothes, my clothes would be too small for him as well so deal with it," Patrick doesn't even do so much as to look at Pete as he spoke before running out of the room with a pair of jogging pants. Pete simply sighs.

The man sits precariously on the edge of the couch as not to ruin anything. The walls of the room are painted a deep shade of red, whereas most of the furniture was black or a similar dark shade. Some black and white 60s film was playing on TV, the audio was too soft to hear but it wouldn't have helped him identify the film anyway. As minutes went by, he continued to scoot back onto the couch until he was practically wedged between the cushions. That's when Patrick comes barrelling down the stairs, nearly tripping. He hands Joe the jogging pants and takes a moment to catch his breath.

"Sorry, he only had, jogging pants, no, shirt," Patrick pants. Joe smiles before pulling him into a hug. His scent, it's... Nice, fresh, somehow remaining in dampened by the rain, he rejoiced with each breath inward. /control yourself Patrick/ his inner thoughts and conscious always did find a way to straighten him out. Joe pulls away and peels off the soaked dress shirt and dries his chest. He was about to rid himself of the slacks but he hesitated. 

"Do you want me to change my pants in the bathroom or?" Joe asks politely, it's their home, he didn't want to break any unspoken house rules. Patrick tries to hide his face as it flushed.

"Change wherever you want, I don't care either way," Patrick replies to seem as smooth as possible. It didn't exactly work.

"O-okay," the man begins changing in front of him so Patrick scurries off to the kitchen.

"Would you like anything to drink? Something warm like coffee or tea?" Patrick asks loudly due to large space between them.

"Um, just coffee please," the man replies as he sits back on the couch wearing only the baggy jogging pants. Patrick would find it hard to control himself with all that exposed flesh around him. Patrick returns with a TV tray holding both of their drinks, coffee, and Patrick's packaged drink poured into a new cup with two ice cubes, just how he liked it. He sits next to Joe and slides the TV tray onto the coffee table, leaning back a bit.

"So I never did catch your name?" Patrick states, crossing his legs.

"Oh, um, I'm Joe, Trohman that is," Joe replies, appearing slightly on edge. Patrick looks Joe up and down, trying his best not to seem too obvious.

"You seem to have a lot of tattoos," Patrick tries to start a new conversation, easing into it judging by how nervous Joe appears.

"Yeah, I'm a tattoo artist actually, you've probably driven past my shop before," Joe beams, proud of what he has made of his life so far.

"I'm actually afraid of anything piercing me, let alone me piercing someone else, so I applaud you for that," Patrick replies nonchalantly. It is quiet for a moment, then Joe changes the subject.

"What're you drinking?" Joe says as he points to Patrick's mug. Patrick is caught off guard and he pauses.

"Fruit punch," he knows that won't be believable but he goes with it.

"Fruit punch? It can't be, it looks different than any fruit punch I've ever had," Joe cocks an eyebrow. Patrick becomes flustered and forgets to think.

"It has something else in it too," Patrick replies, his hands shaking slightly. A grin stretches across Joe's face with the realization.

"Oh, I see, vodka, I like your style!" Joe laughs and smacks his knee. "Can I try some?" Joe reaches for the glass but Patrick pulls it away. Patrick panics and blurts out something he regretted immediately.

"You can't, it's not- it's blood okay?"

Shit.


	2. Mad Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what's going fast? This relationship. Why am I like this I don't mean to rush into things but whatever. (Also yes the chapter title is an arctic monkeys song, I'm gross)

"Dude, you're a vamp? That's sick!" Joe perks up from his slouched position. Patrick is startled, but relieved. 

"I don't know if this is inappropriate to ask but, can I see your teeth? I've never a vamp's teeth up close," Joe inches closer, his eyes filled with wonder.

"Uh sure," Patrick is a bit uncomfortable but he smiles, bearing the long fangs. Joe puts his face quite close to his mouth to get a better look.

"Woah," that was all Joe could say, he was truly amazed by the sight of them. He had always been fascinated by vampires but he had never been this close to one in his entire life.

Patrick's senses are filled with Joe's scent as he accidentally lets a moan slip from his lips. He claps his hands over his mouth and turns as red as the blood in his glass.

"Are you okay? Did I get too close or something?" Joe jerks back, concerned for his new friend, at least that was what he was calling Patrick in his mind until this point.

"N-no it's just, it's just you smell so good and I just, I couldn't control myself, I'm sorry," Patrick finds it hard to make eye contact with Joe. 

"Oh no, you don't need to apologize, it was my fault anyway," Joe inches back a bit. Patrick awkwardly sips from his glass, still unable to look Joe in the eye. Joe can't stand the lack of eye contact or the silence so he inches closer again. He cranes his neck to meet Patrick's gaze, which is currently fixated on the ground in front of him. Patrick can't help but laugh at Joe's awkward positioning until Joe rests his head in Patrick's lap.

"Look. At. Me." Joe chuckles lightly, pulling Patrick's face close to him. Too close. Patrick moans again, his redder than ever.

"I know that you don't mean to do that, but it's kinda hot," Joe smirks devilishly. He wraps his arms around Patrick's neck loosely, pulling himself even closer to Patrick's face. The sound Patrick loathed escaped his lips once more.

"Stop teasing me," Patrick finally says. "We both know you don't actually like me, you're just playing with me to figure out the ins and outs of how vamps work," his brows furrow.

"Who said that?" Joe caresses Patrick's cheek. "Because I certainly didn't," he giggles.

"I. Want. You." Joe breathes warmly onto Patrick's neck. Yet another vile noise breaks out from behind his gritted teeth.

"Then show me," Patrick's inner thoughts began speaking for him. /Did I actually say that? Shit/ Patrick's mind is racing. /he's a stranger, you can't let him do this/ Like the fact that he was a stranger would stop him. He's an attractive stranger, and like he said, he wanted Patrick. He wasn't about to stop him.


	3. Maybe a masochist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun gay vampire stuff. That pretty much sums it up.

Joe didn't hesitate from there, their lips colliding into a sweet embrace. He shuffles his way onto Patrick's lap, Patrick wrapping his legs around him. Joe raises an eyebrow and smiles while their lips are connected. He pushes Patrick down gently onto the couch beneath him. He takes a moment to admire the man- or vampire beneath him. His blonde locks were tousled, his chest rose and fell quickly, his face was tickled pink and slightly sweaty, but he wore the most blissful smile he had ever seen. He was doing it right.

"Bite me," Joe whispers into his neck. Patrick goes pale for a moment.

"What?" He asks, finding it hard to focus as Joe marked his neck.

"Bite me, I know you want to," Joe repeats. Patrick falls silent and tries to think. He can't help but let small pleasured whines be heard.

"You have my permission," Joe hovers over him. A few strands of his curls fell gently in his face, his blue eyes remaining bright and his smile even brighter. Fuck. Patrick was conflicted, he had never bitten anyone before, but this man wanted it. It wouldn't be like he was hurting just anyone senselessly for his own personal gain, but he'd still be hurting someone. Something inside him said /do it, this is the perfect place to start/ and for whatever reason, he listened.

"You sure, you, want it?" Patrick gasped with each kiss. Joe nods, grinning. Patrick flips Joe onto his back, trying to act confident. He wasn't, he was scared. Extremely scared. His breath was cold and it tickled Joe's neck. Though there was something about the grin Joe wore from ear to ear reassured him, even if it was just slight. He looks Joe in the eye one last time, they both nod at each other in sync, and Patrick goes for it.

He takes in a deep breath, and with one last look at Joe's pale neck, he pierces it with his gleaming white fangs, the sweet red nectar that was Joe's blood seeping into his mouth. Joe whimpered ever so slightly that it made Patrick think he had caused him to pass out, but no, he hadn't, at least not yet. Not only that, but he was smiling, and not a sympathetic or pity smile, a real "you're really bringing me joy at this very moment, I think I may just love you" smile. It caught Patrick off guard to say the least.

What even was this man? Some sort of vamp-crazed sub species of human? Maybe a masochist? Hell if Patrick knew, he was far too preoccupied with the overwhelming aroma of Joe. 

To think he thought that the scent of blood beneath Joe's skin was enticing, now that it was exposed to the surface air it will all of Patrick's senses, causing another foul noise to bubble up in his throat. He had never known what pure, untouched blood tasted like until now, but he sure as hell was happy about taking the opportunity to sample it. It was so sweet to him, different from the usual metallic taste of the packaged version, he couldn't get enough of it.


End file.
